Beautiful Assassin

  …because she’s injured.

  …because she’s in such a confusing place and she doesn’t know what she wants.

  The last thing I want to do is add to her confusion or her guilt. I won’t touch her the way I want to touch her until she throws away the wretched engagement ring that Christiano forced on her. I told Moretti I could convince her to do it.

  And I will.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ∞ Cammie Connors ∞

  I’m a sucker for walking trails and waterfalls. Not even my injuries can stop me from enjoying this.

  I’ve forgotten it over the years, but the sight of excited children, gathered families, and unleashed dogs is enough to bring it roaring back. I look at Stefan, who turns the car off and settles against his seat. Does he like the outdoors? Does he like trails and waterfalls too? Or is he trying to manipulate me like Christiano did?

  I peer out at the sight before me. Somersby Falls and picnic area. When Christiano and I came here a few years back, the foliage wasn’t as green as it is now.

  This is exactly what I need to clear my head, to help me decide what the hell I’m going to do.

  “Think you can get dressed in the car?” Stefan asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I glance around me. There is no way getting dressed in this car is possible. It’s tiny. I shake my head and open my door. I frown as it opens upwards, leaving little to no space for me to change my clothes.

  “I’ll stand here and get dressed if you think you can block me from the picnickers?”

  In thought, he looks out at the bustling park before letting out a heavy exhale. “All right.”

  I ease myself out of the car and dump my bag of clothes on the seat. I sift through the bag as Stefan moves in behind me. I chose dresses mostly because it’s easier access to my cuts for when I need to apply cream.

  “The pink one is nice,” he points out, hovering over my shoulder.

  I grab the baby pink summer dress. “It’s not too windy, is it? I don’t have underwear and the last thing I want is to traumatise all of these children.”

  Stefan inches out from behind the door and waits for a few seconds before turning around. He shakes his head. “It’s not windy.”

  I pinch the cord at my thigh, one of three ties that are holding my gown together. I tug it and it unravels, exposing my bare skin up to my hip. I grab the second cord at my waist and pause. I frown as I lift my head. Stefan watches, his eyes as black as oil as he leans oh so casually against the car.

  “Are you going to watch or are you going to block people from seeing me?”

  “Oh.” He chuckles to himself as he turns around. “Right.”

  The wide expanse of his back is enough to shield me from view, provided someone doesn’t look long enough to see me through the black window tints or the ridiculous gaps that come with these awkward doors.

  I tug on the ties at my waist and at the back of my neck and the dense hospital fabric falls from my battered body. I slip into the pink dress in record time, hurting myself as I go. When I’m done, I pull my hair around my face and slump against the car door.

  “Done.”

  Turning around, Stefan admires me with his glistening eyes, approving of the dress. “Pink is a good colour for you.”

  I smooth my palms down my stomach, a desperate attempt to quell the butterflies that flurry like mad. “Thank you.”

  He bends low and grabs my hospital gown. Before he can straighten his legs, a strong gust of wind comes and blows up my dress. I catch it just in time, slamming my hands to my thighs with a hiss. Stefan reaches out for me, gently grazing my thighs with his hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  My cuts throb and it’s deep, but I nod, regardless of the pain.

  “Sorry, I panicked,” I tell him and his lips curve as he fights a smile. “Your face is right there and well, wouldn’t that have been a sight?”

  “I don’t know where that gust of wind came from.” He laughs, grabbing the hospital gown again as he stands up straight. “We don’t have to walk to the waterfall if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I want to.” I slip past him. “I really want to.”

  I have to. It’s the perfect spot to clear my head and decide what I’m going to do moving forward. Stefan tosses the gown into the car and shuts the door. I take in the sight of him and laugh under my breath. He looks completely out of place in his crisp, black slacks and blinding white button-up shirt.

  “What?” he asks, his lips pulling into a wide smile as he undoes the buttons on his sleeves and rolls the fabric to his elbows.

  I shake my head, fighting a smile. “You’re a little out of place, don’t you think?”

  Stefan glances down at his black leather shoes as they crush rocks under their soles with every step he takes. “A little.”

  As we cross the parking lot and stroll across the grass, I feel the stares of the picnickers. Stefan and I must look suspicious. I ignore the curious stares all the way to the start of the trail, only to be hit with another gust of wind. I place my hands against my thighs, gently this time, and the fabric doesn’t budge. The back, however…the wind blows against the back of my thighs and my heart sinks for the briefest second until a large, gentle hand presses against my backside. I gasp, snapping my attention to Stefan, who walks beside me, his chest against my shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he mutters, smoothing his hand over my backside. “Didn’t really have time to ask permission.”

  “It’s okay…” I utter. “Thank you.”

  The wind disappears as we enter the parklands, the gusts replaced with a gentle breeze not strong enough to lift my dress. Birdsongs come in trickles and bursts. There’s a gentle tweep, then a loud squawk. Over and over the smaller birds battle with the bigger ones, the silence and the singing working together as well as any improvised melody. Stefan swiftly removes his hand and walks at an appropriate distance to the left of me. Quickly, my thoughts drift from Stefan and his large, warm hand on my backside to my surroundings. I can’t remember the last time I went for a stroll. Is that sad? I’m always in a rush.

  Always.

  To the sides of the walkway, broken along the forest floor, lie damaged trees fallen in storms and hollowed out by white ants. Their broken shells are dark, like chocolate, and layered in thick, green moss. Some trees stand tall and proud, desperately competing against others to be the tallest in the parkland, to get the most sunlight. Summer has been hot this year, hotter than normal—even for Australia’s standards—but the trees surrounding me give nothing away. They’re lush and thriving, as if water is bountiful in their roots. The others, the trees that have been stripped away, the bark cracked and outer layers peeled, fill my chest with a strange feeling…they’re damaged, sure, but they’re just as beautiful as the ones that tower above me.

  I hobble to the edge of the walkway, well aware of Stefan, who moves closer, cautious of whatever I’m doing. I hold out my hand and press my fingers against a patch of moss larger than my bathmat at home. It’s soft and damp, but my fingers come away dry. I tilt my head up and look at the canopy, my hair brushing against my elbows. I admire the bright blue sky as it breaks up the various green hues and the golden rays of summer desperate to reach the smaller plants down below. I inhale the clean air and hold it in my lungs as Stefan wraps his warm hand around my elbow and pushes and pulls ever so gently, guiding me around whatever is at my feet.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, brushing my hair off my shoulder.

  Exhaling, I close my eyes and smile. “I’m enjoying the walk.”

  ∞ Stefan Valentino ∞

  I can’t take my eyes off of the carefree smile on her rose-pink lips. She’s a beautiful woman, this Cammie Connors. A woman that was once a tight ball of stress is now floating in front of me, as though not even her own body weight can hold her down. She thrives out here, away from it all. Away from the city, her job, and that Christiano fucker.

  I don’t th
ink I’ve hated anyone as much as I hate him. How quickly this turned from a typical job to a personal vendetta. I will make him pay for all of the bullshit I’ve witnessed between them these past few weeks. It causes me physical pain to know how he treats her. I could never treat her that way. I would never.

  Pulling her elbow out of my grasp, Cammie forces herself back down to Earth. I tighten my hands into fists that swing gently at my sides, forcing myself not to reach out and touch her again.

  “Tell me,” she begins, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Why’d you move to Australia?”

  “I didn’t move.” I glance ahead, contemplating my answer. “The bulk of my business is tied up with Moretti. I fly out here often, whenever he needs my help, but my home is in California.”

  “Are you going to go back?”

  I slip my hands into my pockets, strangely uncomfortable by her questions. No one has really asked me these things before. “Yes.”

  We walk further, getting closer and closer to the waterfall. I peer sideways at Cammie and I can see the cogs turning in her head.

  “Moretti is American too, yeah?”

  “More or less.”

  “Why did he move to Sydney?”

  I shrug. “Revenge, mostly.”

  She laughs once. “And how’s that working out?”

  It’s taken him a while, but he’s slowly damaging everything the Russos have built. “So far, so good.”

  “Is he—”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” I cut in, swiping my hand across my forehead to collect a light sheen of sweat.

  I have to stop her. I’ll spill each and every one of my dirty little secrets if she keeps going. She has that effect on me.

  “I’m just trying to wrap my head around the whole situation. Christiano doesn’t tell me much.”

  “Rightly so.”

  Cammie glares at me. Her golden eyes flaring dangerously. “Rightly so?”

  “Knowing things puts you in danger.” But of course she knows that already. If she knew anything when I came for her, she’d be dead. No questions asked.

  “Regardless of the dangers,” she protests, losing breath. “I’d like to know everything about the man I’m sharing my life with. Is that too much to ask?”

  Wincing, Cammie grabs my arm and I slow my pace as the walkway becomes too steep for her. I bend my arm at the elbow, allowing her to grip it as tightly as she needs to.

  “No. You just need to find someone willing to take that risk for you.”

  Our stares lock together and in this moment, in most of the moments I’m lost in her eyes, I want to tell her everything about me. About my life. I shouldn’t.

  I shouldn’t.

  I shouldn’t.

  I shouldn’t…

  …but I want to.

  I’ve never been so fucking confused in my life.

  At the top of the incline we reach the first waterfall, and the view is just breathtaking. It’s not a great big waterfall, not by Niagara Falls standards, but it sure is beautiful. We amble along the path, closer to the waterfall and, even as we approach the viewing area with stable beams, Cammie doesn’t let go of my arm.

  I find myself looking at her more than the waterfall. Her face is bright, filled with childish excitement and awe. I want to take a photo of her in this vulnerable moment. So I do. I pull out my phone and snap a pic of her side profile. She doesn’t realise. She’s too caught up in the beauty of nature to notice what I’m doing.

  The waterfall vibrates the air and pours across smooth rocks, mimicking the sound of insect wings. The water gushes down the cliff face, roiling and bubbling, hissing as it flows.

  “It’s more beautiful than I remember,” Cammie gasps, releasing my arm to grab the beam in both hands.

  I slip my phone back into my pocket. I’d offer to walk her to the next viewing spot, which is much closer to the waterfall, but I don’t think she’d be able to handle the stairs. Extending her slender arm, Cammie points at something by the base of the waterfall.

  With a laugh, she says, “Look at the bush turkey.”

  I frown. “The what?”

  “The bush turkey. Look at it!”

  Stepping forward, I follow the direction of her arm and there it is. A bush turkey. It’s absolutely ghastly with its red head and yellow necklace-thing. Not to mention the fucking mess it’s making, building a mound taller than itself? What for?

  “What the hell is it doing?” I ask, leaning over the beam to get a closer look.

  “He’s building a nest to win over a lady.”

  I scoff. “A nest that big just to impress a female?” I look at Cammie, who rolls her eyes. “I think he’s over-compensating.”

  She laughs.

  “You have a house bigger than you need,” she counters with a sassy smirk. “Would you say you’re over-compensating for something too?”

  I laugh, genuinely laugh, and it feels so damn good. “I bet not knowing is killing you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  She steps closer, intrigued. Cammie is close to me, so close I can feel her firm breasts against my torso. We’re playing this annoying game of tug of war with each other again. We touch.

  We kiss.

  We pretend it never happened.

  How long is she going to string me on like this? Pretending like there’s nothing brewing between us? Maybe it’s just biology. Maybe we’re propelled by baser instincts rather than genuine emotion? There’s only one way to find out, but her injuries prevent us from experimenting.

  “You’re lucky you’re hurt,” I tell her, snaking my fingers through her luscious, caramel hair and squeezing gently. I remember when I brushed it. I wanted to wrap it around my hands so badly. “Or I would have had you already.”

  Her breath hitches and it’s the sexiest sound. “You seem so certain.”

  “I am.”

  I glide my tongue across my lip, moistening it, and Cammie watches closely. The sudden pink hue in her cheeks doesn’t pass me by. She wants me as bad as I want her. She’s wanted me as bad as I’ve wanted her from the fucking beginning.

  Before she knew my name.

  Before she saw my face.

  She smooths her palms over my chest and bats her long, dark lashes at me. Her touch isn’t predatory or desperate. It’s gentle. It’s almost as if she’s trying to comfort me. I’ve never been comforted a day in my life and I don’t need it now.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” I snap, taking her hands and moving them from my chest.

  Her eyes go wide with concern and she snatches her hands from mine, holding them against her stomach.

  “Doing what?”

  “Why do you touch me so softly?”

  She frowns. “I’m confused. How should I touch you?”

  “You shouldn’t touch me at all.”

  Cammie flinches with a heart wrenching frown. Christ. I’ve offended her. “Not like that. I don’t mean it like that.”

  I push my fingers through my hair.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  I blow air out of my cheeks and lean against the beam, my elbow digging into a crack in the pine. I’ve been with many women—all different types—and I didn’t have an emotional connection to any of them—which was fine. I didn’t want an emotional connection with any of them. I’ve grown accustomed to not having to give a woman extra, so to speak. The women I’m used to seeing require little to no prep work. We go to a hotel room, they dance for me, they take their clothes off, they climb on top of me, and then they make me come. After that, they go home. To put in the effort, especially for a woman like Cammie, is fucking terrifying. I’ve never been so nervous about bedding a woman.

  “I don’t know how to…” I pause. How can I say it? “I don’t know how to treat you the way you should be treated.”

  Her bitter confusion melts away, like an ice-cube on a hot hood. “How should I be treated?”

  “Gently. With care and consi
deration.”

  Her full, pink lips quirk at the corners and her eyes flash with pleasure, drying my throat. Cammie steps closer, taking my hand in hers.

  “I like gentle touches,” she confesses, placing my hand on her lower back. “I like soft kisses.” Lifting herself onto her toes, she plants a delicate kiss on my lower lip. “But you know what I like the most?”

  I swallow—I actually fucking gulp—and shake my head.

  “I like being fucked. Hard.”

  Oh, God help me.

  “Keep that in mind and you’ll do just fine, Stefan Valentino.”

  Cammie wraps her slender arms around my neck and pulls my face toward hers. Our lips touch and sparks tear through my entire body as she steals the air from my lungs. She takes full control of the kiss by flicking her tongue along my bottom lip, coaxing my mouth to open for her. My lips part and she moans as our tongues meet. Her fingers are in my hair, my fingers are in hers and—fuuucking hell—I’m harder than I’ve ever been. She knows too. She brushes against it on purpose. To torture me.

  “Hey! Do you mind?” a man snaps from behind us. “This is a family spot.”

  We pull away from each other, as if the other is a scalding piece of metal. Cursing, Cammie turns away to look at the waterfall, embarrassed. Licking my lips, I turn to the robust man in bright blue board shorts who cradles his four-year-old daughter, shielding her face from us.

  “Why don’t you mind your own—”

  Cammie’s hands are on my stomach, her fingers pressing into my muscles. “It’s okay,” she says, another attempt at trying to comfort me. She flashes the father her palm, a calming gesture. “Sorry, sir.”

  Grumbling, he marches down the walkway, making his way to the pool at the bottom. I stare after him. I’ve never been good at controlling myself in minor situations. I’m the calmest guy in a major situation, but throw something minor at me and I’ll lose my fucking mind.

  It’s funny how that works.

  Cammie wraps her petite arms around my waist and rests her head against my chest with a heavy exhale. I drape one arm over her shoulders and turn my attention back to the tranquil waterfall.